Chapter Forty-Five
Max
Progress isn’t linear. I learn the true definition of that over the following days and weeks.
Frankly, it seems like Ember’s been hanging on the cusp of a mental breakdown for many years, and now, it’s finally hit. Dealing with her is like dealing with an insane case of whiplash.
Her first tantrum comes the morning after her negotiation with Cain. It leaves me gritting my teeth and reminding myself that everything’s a process, and that Ember never really got to be a teenager or young adult. She went straight from child to responsible parent to assassin.
She shouts at me over not making the bed, snarks that Creature—Greg—needs a bath, and then shuts herself in the bathroom.
She absolutely deserves a hard spanking for that bullshit, but now isn’t the time to focus in on our dynamic. It’s time to give her the space she needs to start to heal, and to let her feel her feelings the way she never got to.
The day after that is better. She’s contrite, even talks with me about a few of her memories and asks questions to fill in the gaps. I happily oblige her.
The next day is bad again. The following one is good.
I spend every spare second I have with her, pushing off heaps of my workload to Greyson.
The one thing I can’t put off is the strategy meets with Cain, which have two focal points; extracting Azalea and taking over the remainder of Dagon’s operation. Azalea comes first, though.
I truly feel bad for the woman. Cain’s obsession with her has led her to a world of unimaginable pain—and I can’t imagine it’ll get any better once she’s pulled out of one prison and locked directly into another.
After about a week, Ember decides to go to Scarlett’s greenhouse with her. It’s a struggle not to personally accompany them, but I let Greyson keep an eye on them in my stead.
That night, Ember comes onto me for the first time. It’s late—she’s in my arms, breaths even, imitating sleep—but the way she rubs her ass against my cock tells me that she’s very much awake, and feeling needy.
“Flame.” My voice is rough. “Don’t start something you won't want to finish.”
“I’m horny. You're hot and in the same bed. I want both of us to finish.”
“Before you get fucked, you’re getting a major fucking punishment.
So, unless you’re ready to deal with the latter, don’t initiate the former.
” I’m not going to punish her for her mood swings and tantrums—I’ve decided that the best course of actions is to let those slide.
Her punishment will be for going back to Dagon willingly, for choosing to abandon me, and I’m not going to take it easy on her.
I might’ve shelved my anger for the time being, but I still have a score to settle with her for the shit she pulled.
“Then punish me.” She doesn’t sound anywhere near as concerned as she ought to be.
My eyes fully open. Electricity zings through my veins. “If you want that, you better be kneeling at the foot of the bed in the next five seconds.”
As expected, she doesn’t, which tells me everything I need to know. “We’ll try again tomorrow night before bed.”
She sighs, but manages to relax.
She doesn’t kneel the following night.
Or the one after that.
In fact, it takes another week before I find her kneeling at the foot of the bed.
It’s the night before the op to extract Azalea, and I finally find her where I want her. Naked, hands neatly positioned on her thigh, gaze firmly trained on the floor.
I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to withhold a groan. I want to put her on all fours and fuck her until she screams, but I already made my plans for how I’d approach her when the time came, and the actual sex will come last. There are many things I want to do first.
“Such a pretty girl,” I murmur, approaching her with slow, careful footsteps, as if any loud noise or quick movement will send her running.
Which they might. I can sense the tension in the air, the uncertainty radiating from her.
She wants me badly enough to submit despite all the turmoil swirling around within her… and that deserves a reward. Not yet, though. No matter how much I want to be lenient, I can’t be.
I can, however, talk her through it.
“I’m going to bind you very tightly, because what I have in mind will make you move a lot—and I can’t have you moving much for it.”
Her next exhale shutters out of her, but she nods her agreement rather than voicing any protest.
“Up on the bed, Flame. Hands above your head, legs spread.”
She obliges, slowly and carefully. I wait for her to be in position, and then head to the closet. When I return, it’s with a fuckload of leather, rope, and a few implements that Ember stares at with furrowed eyebrows, like she doesn’t recognize them.
I drop everything by the foot of the bed and circle her foot with my hand. “Would you feel better or worse if you were blindfolded right now?”
She hesitates. “I… don’t know.”
“Do you want me to decide?”
Another, long pause. After a while, she nods.
I examine her expression. The fear mixed with interest swirling in her gaze. Her peaked nipples, her rapid breaths, and the glisten I can already see between her thighs. Nah. No blindfold for her—at least, not yet.
She offers her hands to me freely, which get attached to the headboard.
Then, her legs, which go into spreader bar.
She only gets nervous when I attach a leather strap to the ends of the bed, and tighten it right over her belly.
I meant it when I said I needed her to be still—this way, the movements of her upper and lower body will be fairly limited.
“What are you being punished for?” I ask her, picking up the wand. It has a red body, tiny prongs at the tip, and a button on the black handle.
Ember stares at it with wide eyes filled with uncertainty. “Um… snapping at you.”
I press the button. A loud zap echoes through the air, and Ember jerks, realization dawning.
This is an implement I’ve only used a few times, because it’s pretty extreme. It delivers a sharp, stinging jolt of electricity to whatever part of the body it touches when the button’s pressed. I’ve tested it on myself—it really does hurt.
“Nope,” I say smoothly. “I don’t care about that. You’re allowed to have bad moments, especially after years of keeping everything in. I know the last weeks weren’t personal—though I won’t always be so lenient. But you know what is personal?”
I touch the end of the zapper to her leg. She jerks as if she’s been shocked, which she hasn’t—yet. I’m enjoying watching the fear and anticipation build in her eyes.
“The fact that you fucking left me,” I say. She jerks again at my tone, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.
I release a dark chuckle. “Yeah. That. Remember it, Ember? The moment you were ordered to come back, and instead, you walked right up to Dagon?”
“I—”
“Don’t fucking speak. You only part those lips to answer questions, moan, or scream. Got it?”
Her mouth snaps shut, teeth clicking. She gives me a terse nod.
“Are you sorry?” I ask curiously. “There’s only one correct answer here, Flame; that you’re extremely fucking sorry. In case it wasn’t clear.”
“No,” she says softly. “I had to kill Dagon—”
“You nearly died,” I hiss. I press the button, holding the end of the zapper to her thigh; she jerks with a loud cry. I can feel her muscle spasm beneath the implement.
It’s gotta hurt. Right now, I’m feeling particularly sadistic.
But it can’t all be pain. I want to play with her, as well, so I cup her pussy in my palm. She moans, pouty lips parting, and I briefly envision myself sliding my cock through them. We’ll get there. For tonight…
I rub three fingers through her slit, chuckling at the waterfall that greets me.
“Dirty girl…” I press my fingers to her clit, and start to rub her in circles.
She moans, whimpers, and writhes, trying to push her pussy closer into my palm, but I don’t give her the satisfaction.
I rub her gently enough to wind her up without offering any real satisfaction.
Enough to get her caught up in desperation…
so much so that she doesn’t realize it when I reach for the zapper again, until I’m pressing it to the underside of her left breast.
Her eyes widen for half a second and her body tenses, just as I press the button.
She writhes around, letting out a hoarse shout. “You fucking bastard!” she yells.
“Is that any way to speak to the man who has you bound and at his mercy?” I zap her other breast in reprimand, and she screeches.
But she doesn’t swear at me again. Just glares up at me, eyes full of anger, body twitching from the electricity.
“I could be a lot more evil than this,” I warn her. “Maybe I should be, hmm? I could do something like…” I press the prong to her nipple. She lets out a panicked, “no!” just as I click the button.
Her scream is music to my ears. She’s bringing out the sadist in me, and I’m enjoying every moment of it.
I don’t give her a moment to recover before rubbing her clit again, slowly but surely building her up. There are tears swimming in her eyes, but my stubborn girl refuses to let them fall.
Just as well. I have no craving for her tears—though I wouldn’t mind them. The only thing I crave right now is to blur the line of pain and pleasure until she can’t tell the difference… and deliver a very specific message.
She fucking belongs to me. She’s mine. She doesn’t get to walk into another monster’s arms—the monster she truly belongs to has already claimed her.
“Max—fuck,” she whimpers when I zap her again, in the same spot.
“Tell you what,” I say quietly. “I’ll give you a choice. Thirty of these zaps in places of my choosing… or five.”
She’s rightfully wary. “Five where?
I smile. “Two on each of your nipples…” I trail my gaze downward. “And one right here.” I press down on her clit.
Her eyes go wide as saucers. Her breath stutters. She’s silent as the grave for several beats, staring at me.